


Burn and Pursue

by louisandsass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Banter, Drug Use, Fluff, Friendship, Jealousy, Lies, M/M, Mischief, Scheming, Self-Harm, Sexual Tension, This fic is on haitus, greed - Freeform, someday when I'm having dark thoughts I'll return to this lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisandsass/pseuds/louisandsass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five university students manage to ruin each other’s lives through a series of cravings, ambition, conformity, delusion, and jealousy. There’s some love too, but some are cheated out of it while others try to hold on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Possible trigger of self-harm in this chapter.  
> There will be some descriptions of drug use in other chapters.

**Part 1**

**Prologue - May**  

 _Scratch while the hunger consumes you_.

Jaded eyes glare at a clock hanging on the opposite wall. As the seconds tick by, he scratches. One tick—one scratch. That’s all there is to it. Zayn doesn’t know when his life started depending on the speed of the little hand on the clock and the length of his fingernails. It was probably around the time he started abusing his wallet; a few pounds for the blues, a few for the whites.

The urge ascents; he scratches a little harder.

Zayn rather not look but his eyes misbehave and glance down anyway. His arms and legs are both pink. They’re almost red at this point. There’s no blood yet so he keeps dragging his fingernails over the exposed limbs.

Probably numb, the usually tan skin doesn’t burn anymore.

But his stomach does. It’s empty. Lately food doesn’t stay long in his system before its rushing back up. He cringes—not with vile—for the lack of the blues and whites. He misses the initial burst of pleasure that intermingles with energy and faded reality whenever he swallows one. The escape it allows him to take.

Not even a week since he was expelled and he’s already managed to inch closer to his old ways, before Liam and Niall unintentionally cured him. It was temporary, apparently.

He misses them more than his hidden stash at the back of his Mustang’s glove compartment that he was supposed to toss months ago. Tells himself he doesn’t need those pills, they’re not worth it. But neither are the brunette and blonde he so painfully yearns for.

His hands tighten into fists. He’s going to punch at a wall—at something. For the first time in hours, Zayn moves away from his view of the clock to search for a target. The doorbell rings. He panics.

**~ ~ ~**

**8 months earlier** \- **September**  

_Wear a mask but don’t glue it on._

A bunch of people crowd around the sidewalk across the enormous Payne residence. Cameras flash and screams set off at the same time when the person of their interest exits his front door. The subject for their craze waves at his fans with a brilliant smile that will surely end up on the cover of a magazine.

A cameraman from TMZ shouts a hopeful question, “Payne, where are you off to this early in the morning?”

“I’m off to the studio to work on my new album,” he informs for all to hear.

The crowd shrieks. Soon enough, Liam’s bodyguards are ushering him toward the back of a waiting limo. A fan professes her love for him loud enough to reach his pleased ears. Without a beat, he blows her a kiss and another in the general direction of his followers. Liam flashes them one last grin before slipping disappearing into the vehicle.

The head of his label, Simon Cowell, is already seated across from him. They greet each other like the close friends they’ve become since Syco signed him.

“Liam, I just want to remind you how proud I am.”

No one else has ever witnessed the smile that brightens Simon’s aging face. Liam cherishes it for a moment, responding with, “I’m trying my best.”

“Yes, and while you’re at it, take the trash out.”

Liam stares dumbfounded at his boss.

“Excuse me?”

“Get your lazy ass up!”

“But I—”

“LIAM!”

Liam rises up in bed a little too fast, wincing as his eyes adjust to the light streaming into his bedroom from the hallway. His aunt stands at the doorway, hands at her hips and eyes bugging out of their sockets.

“Boy, I’ve been trying to wake you up for the past five minutes.”

Liam rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Now that you’re up, you can take the trash out. It’s way too heavy for me to carry.”

“Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself,” he murmurs. Aunt Tessa doesn’t hear him. She’s already storming down the other end of the hall to rouse his little sister.

Somewhere out on the street, a car alarm goes off. Not even a minute later, a couple of shouts from outside reach his ears. Unfortunately, the shouts don’t belong to the fans he was dreaming about. This is his reality.

Disappointment washes through him, settling into his stomach with a weight of a ton of bricks. This is not how his life is meant to be. He knows it.

Liam shoves on a pair of joggers and a discarded jumper at the foot of his bed. He walks by his sleepy sister on her way to the bathroom and ruffles her hair affectionately. Ruth sticks her tongue out at him. She’s the only reason he hasn’t moved out yet.

Surely, a large black bag awaits him by the front door. Aunt Tessa is thumbing through a magazine not even two feet away. She points at the TV remote atop the coffee table and clears her throat expectantly. Liam suppresses an eye roll and hands her the contraption as he walks by. He doesn’t receive a single form of gratitude (not that he was expecting one).

The walk to the community bin behind their miserable apartment complex is lengthy and by the time Liam gets the top open, he’s short of breath. Just as he manages to lift the heavy trash bag to release it into the bin, the shouts he heard moments ago start up again. He doesn’t need to stare down the other end of the alley to identify the belligerent yells belonging to a couple that refuses to split even though they’ve been caught cheating. It only enforces Liam’s idea that nothing is temporary around there.

In his heart, he knows this place won’t be his home forever.

Aunt Tessa took him and his sister in when their parents ended up in prison for theft and fraud. That’s all Liam knows. His aunt refused to tell him more when he was twelve and still twists with rage whenever he brings it up.

“ _It doesn’t matter, you’ll probably end up the same way_.”

Liam cannot wait to leave the hellhole that his aunt has created. She’s still bitter that her husband left her for another man. She doesn’t joke. She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t give two shits about them. Liam promises Ruth that he’s going to get them out of there in just a couple more years. He’s going to get a good education and successful career. Not sure what it will be. He’s had his heart set on becoming a singer since he can remember. Ruth tells him he has a beautiful voice and he would believe her if Aunt Tessa wasn’t constantly shutting him up.

Dreams like the one he recently had will get him nowhere, he knows, but he’s willing to do just about anything to make sure his promise to Ruth doesn’t break.

Today’s his first day as a freshman at BPU. Briar Patt University offered him a scholarship at the end of sixth form for his excellent grades and extra curriculum work. He plans to take full advantage of the opportunity, not only to stay away from his neurotic aunt as much as possible, but to prove to Ruth that he won’t defraud her like everyone else in their lives have.

He’s seriously willing to do anything.

**~ ~ ~**

_Join the ranks or start your own._

Niall hates school. Its sole function, in his experiences, is to pave the way towards humiliation. Fellow classmates either stare too much or not at all. At least one teacher goes out of their way to put you in the spotlight when you’re not keeping up with the material. The cafeteria food is always shit. There are a million other reasons why school sucks but if Niall has to choose the top one, it’s not being able to fit in. The transfer student from Ireland never belonged to a group, usually sticking to one or two companions at the most, and even then, those friendships never lasted.

Maybe he’ll change that this fall.

As he walks to his first class, a lime green flier catches his eye. He reads it quickly and tears off a strip from the end, stuffing it into his pocket. He’ll dial the number carelessly scrawled in barely-legible handwriting as soon as he gets his hands on a new phone.

When he left his homeland, Niall didn’t so much as bother to bring any of his possessions, except for Shelley, his ruby-red guitar. They’re a package deal. And it’s not like he made the decision to move to Birmingham on his own. His parents kicked him out, claiming that it’s time he learns how to be a man.

Of course the first thing Niall did when he arrived was cry. Very manly. The air in England is thick, okay?

He picks up his pace; pretty sure he’s already running late to Intro to Music—curse the discomfort of the springs in his dormitory bed—and smacks into a boy. Niall reaches out to steady the other while he tries to regain his own balance. The other lifts his face from the paper he’d been studying and offers an apologetic smile. His eyebrows crease together.

“I’m a bit lost, sorry about that.”

Niall chuckles. “Freshman?”

The other clears his throat and nods. His large brown eyes—the same color as his short hair—widen a bit in realization. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah,” Niall says quickly, not wanting to give the worried lad the wrong impression, “Lucky guess. This is my first term as well. I'm Niall, by the way.” He offers a hand and waits.

This is the most forward he’s ever been, it makes him feel smug as he makes a mental note to let his parents know. He can handle this shit, make some friends and learn some material. He’ll do it blindfolded if he has to. New country, new school... Maybe things will be different this time around.

**~ ~ ~**

_Settle with comfort until better approaches._

Shifting in his seat to get a better view of the chalkboard, Harry’s arm brushes against another’s. He stops momentarily in his struggle to get a good view past the dozens of heads up front and leans closer to the boy beside him instead. Their seats are adjacent in the lecture hall. If he turns his head twenty degrees to the left, he won’t be able to stop himself from pressing his lips against a warm cheek.

Louis is always warm.

Professor Cromwell pauses briefly during his lecture. Those aging gray eyes narrow toward the back of the classroom—he explained earlier how he doesn’t admire tardiness. Harry isn’t the type of student that stares whenever someone walks into a class so he sustains his attention at the front of the room. Louis, on the other hand, turns in his seat to get a look at their classmate who is now muttering apologies along a row of occupied seats. Harry nudges the human version of Curious George. When the gentle press of his elbow is ignored, he turns around in pure resignation.

A dimpled-smile forms on Harry’s face. Their good friend, Zayn, is late on the first day and he is totally not baffled. Louis snorts when Zayn stumbles a bit and doesn’t hold back from lifting his hand in an obnoxious wave to catch Zayn’s eye. A couple of students in the rows behind them shoot the raised hand a glare, daring it to go higher.

“What’s the question?” Professor Cromwell inquires; unaware that Louis isn’t even facing his way.

The boy with the short attention span may seem like he isn’t conscious of everything but he usually has an ear out, an expert at multitasking. He doesn’t even stutter when he asks their Psychology professor, “Could you give another example of a Freudian Slip, please? I didn’t find that last one quite clear, sir.”

Harry picks up on the boy’s pretense of sounding genuinely concerned with the relatively simple theory. It works because Cromwell delves into an extended discussion on the rest of Sigmund Freud’s work and gives them more than the example Louis asked for.

Louis’ hand subtly inches its way over to Harry’s. They make eye contact, doing their best to not burst out laughing at the mischief in the air between them. Harry stares hard into the familiar pair of cobalt eyes, luminous and sincere with affection. If Harry’s heart squeezes and his breath halts for a minute, it’s upon normalcy.

**~ ~ ~**

_Take a grip before someone slips._

Painful is the first word that appears in his mind. It’s nothing like the feeling of a broken leg or a bad breakup. This case is the opposite of the latter. Holding back the sensation of impulse hurts in every part of his body, the unmentionables mostly.

Pain is associated with pleasure in some cases.

How he’s coped with keeping his hands to himself for this long is impressive. His boyfriend looks absolutely delectable in his fitted V-neck shirt. Thanks to their proximity, Louis is wickedly thirsty and unless they find a storage closet or an abandoned classroom somewhere, his skin will twist from the inside out. Really, he’s mostly concerned with the looming fear of ruining his favorite trousers.

Staring into the big, emerald orbs of his boyfriend shoves the idea forward, knocking the wind out of his lungs roughly. The other catches on quickly and shakes his head in a way to remind Louis where they are.

Freud’s Psychosexual Development steers its way into Cromwell’s lesson. By then, Louis is squirming in his seat because his professor obviously _knows_. Harry, the little shit, passes a note to him and Louis all but bursts into fire at the meaning of the message. He rereads it once more, unsure whether he’s becoming a masochist or a dolt. Peripheral vision captures Harry’s haughty smirk. Louis is willing to play dirty to make Harry writhe on an account of libido righteousness. Unfortunately, Cromwell doesn’t leave much time for that, dismissing them all with a reading assignment.

Surprisingly, Harry shoots out of his seat quicker than Louis and tugs on his hand. Louis is thinking that perhaps Harry was having the same fantasies and the excitement spreads to his toes. He follows the tall boy, complete with messy curls and toned physique, to the source of Louis’ earlier curiosity. Harry’s hand slips out of his to encircle Zayn in a hug.

“Zayn-o!” Harry exclaims, not caring for the students still trying to exit the room.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t start with that. No one but you thinks that nickname is suitable. I find he doesn’t need a name change. The wardrobe, however, deserves to be burned at stake.”

No matter the playful insult, Zayn embraces him tightly. “Remind me why we’re friends,” he mutters in Louis’ ear.

“You need someone like me to remind you that plaid makes you look like a hobo.”

Zayn moves back a bit, proceeding to smack him on the shoulder.

“Actually, he looks appropriately masculine to me. Don’t listen to this prick, Zayn, you’ll always be fit in my eyes.”

“You’re just kissing ass because you want to know details of Zayn’s crazy summer,” Louis hisses.

“No,” Harry considers, “I genuinely think he’s fit.”

At that confession, Zayn moves out of Louis’ slackened hold and links arms with Harry.

Louis glowers as the mood for a cheeky campus sexcapade vanishes and replaces itself with irritation. “Fine. While you two get reacquainted, I’ll go to my next class because I have nothing better to _do_.”

The emphasis on that last word doesn’t move past Harry. He immediately recognizes his mistake. Louis notes the realization in his boyfriend’s expression and smirks. Before allowing Harry to form words to change his mind, Louis walks away, exaggerating the sway of his hips.

Getting even is his favorite pastime; Harry should know this by now and yet he can't keep his eyes off his retreating figure.                                                                                                                               


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me ages to post because of the other two stories I'm working on. Shoot me for trying to fit all of these in my agenda. 
> 
> Hope this is okay.
> 
> xx

**Part 2**

**Zayn**

“What’s up with him?” Zayn asks because Louis stormed away like a five year old.

“You know him,” Harry answers as if that’s enough of an explanation. It sort of is. Zayn knows Louis pretty well and knows that the guy loses his patience easily. He’s cool though. When he’s in a good mood, that is.

Zayn glances down at the placement of his arm (still linked with Harry’s) and makes the connection. Centuries later, it seems. But he can’t help it if he literally woke up half an hour ago, his thoughts still a jumbling mess. The boy barely had time to get dressed and jog the short distance from his apartment to BPU’s campus. That would explain why he’s wearing plaid. Louis’ right, it does make him look like a hobo. Zayn didn’t have time to do laundry since he barely flew in from Japan and plaid was all he could find in the small pile of clean clothes that didn’t look to over-the-top for school.

By now, everyone in their psychology class is gone except for them and their professor. The old man nods curtly at them and exits the lecture hall. Zayn unlinks his arm from Harry’s. Louis has never been intent on sharing; Zayn fails to recognize that sometimes. However, it’s not like Harry is totally innocent in this situation.

Whatever, Louis will join them for lunch later and his annoyance will have passed by then. He’s easily manipulated too so if Zayn buys him food, all will be swell.

They leave shortly after Cromwell. Harry steers them in the direction of the library. They don’t have class for another hour which allows them time to catch up. Zayn spent most of the summer holiday traveling with his family. Sadly, it’s the only time they can all be together for various days in a row. His parents are usually extremely busy with building their Malik Empire and all that jazz surrounding music management. The industry doesn’t quite attract Zayn as much as it did during his high school years which is why he chose a different path his younger sisters are in quest of. It’s mostly just him in his own apartment and his own studies since he started higher education. And of course he has tons of friends, friends like Harry and Louis. He’s not completely alone.

“How was Japan?” Harry draws Zayn out of his own mind. It’s what he’s best at.

Instantly, his eyes light up. “Sick! By far my favorite country to visit!”

With sincere interest, Harry goes, “Yeah? And why is that?”

“For starters, we were there the longest. Almost three weeks. My parents didn’t have much work to do there so we actually did some family stuff. It was cool. We ate a lot of great food and tried on some kimonos. Wait.” Zayn halts. “Don’t tell Louis about that. He won’t let me live it down.”

“I won’t mention it.” Harry laughs. “And the population? Like what you saw?”

“Oh, definitely,” Zayn considers. He recalls meeting numerous attractive people. Most of them were boys. “But I think Ireland has them beat in that statistic.”

“You went to Ireland too?”

“Yeah, mate. That was our stop before Germany. Man, the third night in Mullingar, I went to this pub, right? It was down the street from the hotel we were staying at. I sat next to this fit lad that was like, a bit plastered, I’d say. We had a good laugh, played some pool, belted out JB songs.”

Quite the cheeky fellow, Harry wags his eyebrows suggestively. “I suppose you got his digits?”

Zayn scratches the back of his neck. “Actually, no. I didn’t.” He frowns over his biggest regret. That guy was a riot.

“I’m honestly shocked, Zayn-o.”

“Jesus, Harry. Louis is right, Zayn-o is a horrible nickname. Give it up, please.”

“Screw you.” Harry holds up his thumb and index finger. “I’m _this_ close to telling Louis about the kimonos. I’ll even ask your sisters for pictures.”

“I’ll fucking stab you.”

“Aha! So they exist? Pictures that can incriminate you!”

They reach the library but don’t enter, not very keen on leveling their combined noise levels. Harry’s head is thrown back, an open-mouthed grin. He’s cackling at Zayn’s expense. Louis has done quite the number on Harry, he now sees. During freshman year, Harry was much more reserved until he was exposed to the madness that Louis brings—the ability to take the piss out of everything. Zayn is often the victim but he doesn’t mind it. He has ways of retaliating. Whenever he witnesses Louis and Harry acting like infatuated saps, he rarely lets the opportunity to poke fun at them slip by. Always to Zayn’s dismay, Louis is really good at bouncing back into the game by pulling out the big guns (those being the dirt he has on Zayn’s seldom drug use).

Really, Louis doesn’t play fair.

Harry has no idea it’s been going on. Louis isn’t a complete twat in this case. He only hints at Zayn’s little pastime, never outwardly gives him away. Thankfully Harry takes most of it as a joke. If he found out… Zayn doesn’t know how he’d fix it. The thought makes him squirm. Drugs and Harry don’t go hand-in-hand.

~ ~ ~

**Liam**

He doesn’t know why he felt relief when Niall said he was running late to Intro to Music. They’d barely known each other for five minutes. Something about the blond settled nicely in Liam’s nervous bones. Perhaps it was his approachable aura. Not many people came off that way to Liam, let alone fellow university students. He’d asked no more than seven different people how to get to Hendrix Hall. Each one of them gave directions that hardly made any sense. If Liam hadn’t been lost though, he wouldn’t have found Niall.

Coincidentally—and maybe fate is involved too—Liam and Niall have similar schedules, both aspiring for a degree in music with the contrast that Niall seems more confident about his study of focus. Liam, on the other hand, is uneasy. His aunt has no idea he’s planning a double major (the other in business—to fulfill his scholarship and to appease her as well).

They sit next to each other in class. It didn’t require a formal arrangement. Niall, in his obviously Irish accent, talks about someone named Shelley for the longest time until Professor Suffolk enters and starts the class by blasting an old-sounding tune by Chuck Berry. Whoever that is, Liam inwardly shrugs.

“My ding-a-ling? How is this even classified as music?” Liam whispers to Niall. The other stares,shocked. Blushing, Liam intones, “ _What_?”

“Do you have any idea who Chuck Berry is?”

Liam shakes his head.

“He’s a rock legend.”

“With a song constructed as an invitation to his penis, I really doubt that.”

Niall sniggers. Soon his pale face is taking on a pink hue that makes Liam appreciate him all the more. Already, he’s feeling at ease with his new school. If people can be as friendly as Niall, the next few terms shouldn’t be half as bad as he anticipated.

They’re let out a bit early; Suffolk being one of those laid back professors. Niall rushes Liam so that they can get to a restroom quickly. He’d been holding it in since Liam made him laugh so much with his zero-to-no knowledge about the origination of rock music. He shouldn’t blame Liam, not when rock isn’t his forte. His voice is more suitable for R&B, making him much more aware of the history behind _that_ genre.

Liam searches for a water fountain while he waits for Niall who has to get through a long line for the men’s room. They’re by the library which sits in the center of campus. Liam marvels at its grandeur. He’s fixating his stare up at the huge building as he walks toward a drinking fountain. Like déjà vu, Liam feels the unpleasant impact of his body bumping into another’s. He turns his attention away from the library to apologize to yet another person he’s managed to crash into today. Good thing was that Niall had been cool about it. He doesn’t know what to expect this time.

His eyes settle on a boy with beautiful tan skin. That’s the first thing he notices. Next is the state of his hair, a bit tussled, a bit styled and dark, dark, dark.

 _Oh_ _._

He has a surprised look on his face as he stares back at Liam. And Liam swears, to all that is sacred, that this boy is straight from Greek mythology with his perfectly structured jaw and pair of collarbones peeking out from his plaid shirt that shouldn’t look good on anyone. It works for him, though. Another guy, Liam’s only noticing now, coughs up nearly a lung to break them out of the trance they fell into. Pneumonia Boy shifts his weight over to one leg and nudges Plaid Boy with his elbow. Plaid Boy shakes his head and displays a pair of perfectly white teeth. In contrast to his olive skin, it looks quite spectacular.

Liam struggles for words. He can honestly say he’s never been enchanted by anyone before this. “Sorry!” he yells. Yells? Really ?

Pneumonia Boy lets out an obnoxious laugh. It should be annoying but with the dimple that appears on the left indent of his face and the curls that rustle from around his face. Liam finds him endearing but not as much as Plaid Boy’s voice when he says, “No problem at all.”

Those four words are going to stay engrained in Liam’s brain for the rest of the day. Dear God.

“Are you lost or something?” Pneumonia Boy inquires. Maybe it wasn’t meant to sound rude but it comes off that way to Liam’s ears. Then he thinks of the probability that these two are together and that’s not a nice outcome.

“I was distracted, sorry.”

“The library is pretty dope, isn’t it?” Plaid Boy’s tone registers softer than his friends, friendlier.

“I was just admiring its Gothic architecture. I can only imagine the high ceilings on the inside. I wonder if they’re made of marble…” Liam trails off. He’s a nerd. It’s somewhat of a curse that at times like these he fails to set it aside.

Plaid Boy’s grin widens. He nods over at the building. “Almost looks like a French cathedral, doesn’t it? It was greatly inspired by Louis the VII and the first established Gothic abbey, Saint-Denis. You should definitely see it from the inside, though. It takes on more of a Portuguese-style, y’know, like their typical church structure.”

Yup, Liam’s definitely attending the right school. Plaid Boy expanded on Liam’s comment as if his life depended on it. The intelligence that shone through his words caused Liam’s throat to go dry.

Pneumonia Boy stifles another laugh with a cough.

“Get a grip, Harry ,” Plaid Boy grits.  

As if he didn’t catch that, Liam opens his mouth to ask for Plaid Boy’s name when Niall’s arm startles him. It wounds around his shoulders. Liam wants to glare at him when he notices Plaid Boy’s eyes glint with recognition.

“Hey, I remember you.”

Christ, Pneumonia or, Harry, is covering his mouth with his hand to hold back another giggle. His eyes give him away. He’s enjoying this. It seems that everything that gets a reaction out of his friend is worthy of a good laugh. Hopefully Liam will eventually catch on and join in.

“Right you are, Zayn.”

Zayn . Well that’s a name Liam can get used to—can write in different typographies until his pens run out of ink. He’s not opposed to using other means to continue doing so. If he has to write the name of Zeus’ handsome, intelligent son in blood, he’ll hardly mind. Mount Olympus just lost a resident because Liam isn’t letting this one go anywhere.

~ ~ ~

**Niall**

It was cute how quickly Liam forgot that he was supposed to wait for Niall. Like an idiot, the Irish lad stood outside the restroom, wondering if Liam had gone in to use the loo as well. No wonder girls used the buddy system, so they wouldn’t get stuck awkwardly waiting outside. Not that Niall was considering taking up that custom any time soon—was just finally enlightened.

When it didn’t seem like Liam was going to show his face, Niall swept a gaze around the area. It took him a moment to spot the brown hair and muscular build.

By the time Niall approaches him, he gets a good look at the person Liam’s facing—after getting over the initial daze that the reserved Liam is socializing with someone else. But, oh shit, Niall knows who he’s socializing with, spent time with the person even. He’s the guy that got Niall’s mind off of the crazy prospect of moving to England alone. He’d bought him a couple of drinks and challenged Niall to an intense round of pool. By the end of the night, Niall wanted to kiss him. He waited for Zayn to make a move that would imply that he was interested but nothing came of it. Afterward, when they parted ways, the fact that they didn’t exchange digits was a pitiful outcome.

Seeing Zayn again after nearly two months, at his new school of all places, Niall figures that destiny is nudging their guts, playing a trick on them. A trick, definitely, because Zayn’s body language reads that he’s flirting with Liam. Once Niall moves in closer, before settling his arm around Liam (as a joke, mostly), he rolls his eyes at their conversation pertaining to church structure, the only part Niall catches.

Much to his self-esteem, Zayn recognizes him without needing a reminder.

“Niall, right?” Judging by the look on Zayn’s face, he’s pleased to be reencountering the blond boy. But he also scowls at Niall’s arm which is hanging off of Liam’s left shoulder in less of a pleased expression.

“Yeah, mate. You didn’t tell me you were studying here.”

“You didn’t tell me _this_ was the reason you were moving to England.”

The way Zayn emphasized _this_ screams for all levels of scrutiny. Zayn continues to gaze at the pair until the tall boy at his side hip checks him. A silent exchange of words occurs between their eyes. It’s similar to what Niall’s parents did when they dropped him off at the airport. Exchanges like those are skeptical and Niall supposes that there must be some important history between Zayn and that guy. Either that or they have elsewhere to be.

Clearing his throat, Zayn squeezes his friend’s arm and introduces him as Harry. Liam reaches out to shake Harry’s hand—Niall titters a bit. Zayn frowns at Liam. “Where’s _my_ handshake?” Liam gives a startled apology and complies with Zayn’s little request.

 _Great_ , Niall thinks. The hot guy from the bar is totally into his cute new friend. How great is that? For some reason Niall finds himself wanting to ruin any possibility of _LiamandZayn_ just to make _NiallandZayn_ happen. Harry had been a threat for about four seconds but something tells Niall that the real threat is Liam.

“We gotta go,” Harry informs them.

Zayn looks reluctant to leave and if it weren’t for Harry, he’d probably stay longer. They blend in with a wave of students emerging out of the library and disappear within seconds. Niall and Liam walk the opposite way. His arm still resting upon Liam’s strong shoulders, Niall wonders just how hostile he’s willing to go in order to scare Liam away from Zayn. Not much, he decides when Liam offers him a sweet smile.

“What a small world,” Liam comments.

“We met at a pub in Mullingar.”

“I figured.”

“Hey, what class do you have next?”

“Physics.”

“I have astronomy. Science building it is.”

They make it to their respective classes early. Niall waves at Liam from down the hall. He looks inside his own classroom and sees that only three students have arrived. He hates being on time so he heads over to Liam’s class and peeks his head in. Unsurprisingly, Liam is occupying a seat in the front row. He spots Niall and raises an eyebrow.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Liam gets up and passes his mobile over. “Thanks, I’ll bring it back right now.”

“Hold onto it ‘til after class.”

“Liam, you sure?”

Perhaps Liam is way too nice for his own good. Niall makes a mental note to never consider messing with this boy ever again. It would probably land him in the abyss or something of the equivalent like math class.

He thanks Liam and walks back in the direction of his astronomy class. The piece of lime green paper he pocketed earlier feels heavy in his palm. Niall is feeling bold and dials the number before he chickens out. Instead of calling, he sends a text message.

**_Hey, this is Niall Horan. I saw your flier. Where can I sign-up?_ **

A response buzzes through moments later.

_We’re holding auditions tomorrow at 4 in Suffolk’s class. Can you make it?_

Niall takes his schedule into account and is glad to find that he’s available.

**_Definitely_ **

_Cool. Come prepared pls._

By that he assumes he’s supposed to bring Shelley with him. The flier had said that this band called 5SOS was looking for a fifth member to live up to the name (preferably a fifth member that could play guitar). Niall’s been playing for years. He never considered joining a band before. It would mean a lot of time and dedication. If these 5SOS guys are any good, he’s willing to make the attempt. Hopefully, they agree with his skills and give him a chance.

Another thing he can add to his list of ‘Hey mom and dad, I’m doing well on my own, see?’

~ ~ ~

**Harry**

“Are you going to glare at me until my hair falls out?”

Zayn purses his lips in a tight line. “You could have given me five more minutes with him.”

“Which _him_? Blond _him_ or brunet _him_?

“Smart _him_.”

“So you’re going for the brunet. I should’ve figured, what with the sexual Gothic talk and all. Damn, Zayn, how did you know about that stuff? I never knew it could be used for flirting.”

“What am I studying?”

“Archaeology.”

“Exactly dumbass.”

“Fucking prick,” Harry murmurs under his breath. Zayn hears and flips him off. Harry catches it dramatically as if it were a blown kiss. “Love you, Zayn-o.”

“Don’t you have class to get to? Or a boyfriend to snog?”

“Fuck if I know,” Harry answers despondently.

He thinks back to the image of Louis storming away. That boy does not know how to share and when he’s feeling possessive, acts like a total asshole in the process. But dammit, Harry loves him. He’s loved him for years and not even little displays of jealousy are going to push him away. Louis is not a force to be reckoned with. Regardless, Harry has always taken the plunge for him—devotion at its finest even when Louis has been at his worst.

“Shit, I have Integrated Design in five.” Zayn starts rushing away, calling over his shoulder, “Come over later and bring the boyfriend if he’s done sulking! I might let you live for another week.”

Harry calls Louis and hopes he’s not in the middle of class. Luckily, Louis picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hey you.”

“Hey.” He relaxes from hearing the jovial tone. He’s glad the irritation is absent. “Where are you?”

“What did your note say?”

“Things I want to do to you.”

“Where?”

“The roof.”

“See ya in a few, baby.”

Harry makes his way quickly across campus. “See ya,” he returns breathlessly.

They started doing that during freshman year—hanging out on the roof of Dmitri Tower (tallest building on campus. No one ever goes up there except for the occasional custodian. It’s a place that not even Zayn knows about. Well, he’s aware they have a secret spot but he’s never questioned its location because he just, he _knows_. For the last few years, it’s been a place where Harry and his boy can escape to whenever things get overly hot or quite insane between them. It’s a place that holds a lot of secrets between their souls and their bodies, mostly muscle memory. If anyone knew, it wouldn’t preserve the same meaning and they’d have to find a new location. Setting up new roots isn’t easy and they already experienced that at the start of their university days. The spot will surely hold even more memories by the time they’re graduating over a year from now.

He takes the elevator up to the twelfth floor—the lift’s limit. He makes sure the hallway is clear before thrusting open a storage closet. It’s dark and dusty inside. He sneezes his way up the ladder at the back of the small space and heaves open the square exit at the top. The glow of sunlight hits his face first. Next, a pair of soft hands take his to pull his body out onto the roof. They push down on the metal cap of the building where Harry just climbed out of, making sure it’s secure and shut.

Harry’s eyes settle on Louis’ and it takes about two seconds to connect their lips. Louis sets his hands under Harry’s shirt and rubs circles over the skin at his hip. Harry groans and cups the back of Louis’ head to get more access into his mouth. They stumble in each other’s arms until Harry’s back hits the railing which keeps them about a yard away from the edge of the building. Good because any closer and they’d get caught. Louis’ hands roam his body until Harry reaches for the zipper of his pants. He earns himself a love bite at the base of his neck. By the time he frees Louis’ throbbing member from the constriction of cotton material, there’s another stinging of teeth where it gnaws at the flesh of his throat.

“I want— Fuck, Harry,” Louis mumbles intangibly against his skin.

“You want? What do you want, babe? My mouth?” Harry doesn’t know how he achieves speech while Louis’ palming him roughly.

Louis groans and the “yes” is lost somewhere between the time it takes for Harry to get on his knees and to start pleasing him.

~ ~ ~

**Louis**

He can’t recall a time he’s ever been able to resist the force Harry carries with him. The effect is invisible but he sees it. Harry practically glows with it, like an angel with a halo. Except maybe this force circles his entire body, radiates brighter than a computer screen in the darkest night. It encompasses Louis when they’re together. Sexually and non-sexually.

 _Fuck_.

For some reason, and there will never be a proper explanation for this, Louis can’t bring himself to acknowledge the hold this boy has over him. He doesn’t like being controlled—it isn’t part of his nature. His true calling is to lead. But, Christ, if he could lead Harry, he wouldn’t feel so submissive.

After having Harry’s mouth on him, he can’t do much else but go with the energy that Harry brings to the table every fucking time they rut against each other. Harry was made for this. The proof is that Louis never bottomed until this beauty came into the picture. He never so much as found bottoming an option. But Harry… he knows just how to perform and yup, Louis doesn’t last as long as he wish he could when it happens.

Harry is going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~

They get to Zayn’s around dinner time (must be dinner time because his apartment smells like chicken and noodles all the way from the car park. Louis and Harry help themselves to the food on the stove without a second glance at their host. Zayn doesn’t care, only warns them about making a mess and even flips Louis off when he attempts to start a food fight.

“You’re a grown-ass man, stop that shit.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “What the fuck got shoved up your ass?”

“He’s mad,” Harry blurts, swallowing a mouthful of grilled chicken to continue, “I scared a boy away.”

“Why am _I_ being punished? I wasn’t even there!”

If he high fives Harry under the table, that’s only because he plans to shag him again later. He loves—swells with pride—whenever his boy achieves a level three in their imaginary chart. Level one: annoy Zayn. Level two: piss Zayn off. Level three: annoy and piss Zayn off.

“This isn’t poisoned, is it?” Harry investigates after shoveling most of the portions on his plate into his mouth.

“Would serve you right.”

Louis puts his fork down. “Okay, enough. This dude must have been really hot if you’re not letting it go anytime soon.”

“Really, really hot,” Harry chips in before Zayn can get a word in.

Instantly turning to face Harry, Louis crosses his arms, angry that he’s always so quick to admire the anatomy of other men. “Is that why you scared him away? So you could have a chance?”

Harry doesn’t answer until he knocks back a long swig of Pepsi. “He’s taken, actually.”

Zayn grumbles. “You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure that blond already has a claim on him.”

Louis looks between them. “What blond?”

“Guy I met on my holiday. His name's Niall,” Zayn explains offhandedly. He levels both of them with a look that says he’s not in the mood for humorous banter anymore. “I guess he moved here from Ireland to attend school with…” A pained expression takes on Zayn’s normally placid demeanor. Louis almost feels sorry enough to not prod.

Ostensibly, Harry doesn’t feel the same way. “With his _boyfriend_. The word isn’t that hard to say.” He says it while watching Louis.

“I didn’t even get his fucking name because you made us leave!”

Louis doesn’t think fast enough. Zayn throws himself at Harry—tackling him out of his seat at the dining table and landing on top of him on the wooden floor. He’s straddling Harry’s thighs and playfully tickling him, which is enough to get Louis to his feet. Grabbing a handful of Zayn’s shirt, he tugs and tugs until he gets him off of Harry. “ _Don’t_ ,” Louis warns in a strained voice. He helps the Harry to his feet and says a disgruntled, “look alive,” into his ear.

“Didn’t you hear Harry the first time? Mystery guy is taken. Get the hell over it.”

“No,” Zayn states defiantly. He crosses his arms. “You weren’t there, you didn’t _see_.”

“They flirted about the structure of the library.”

Louis laughs his ass off into the next era. Zayn glares daggers at Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written something like this before so excuse me if it's a bit confusing with multiple POVs? Also, I'm not completely familiar with drug use and self-harm stuff. So, sorry if it doesn't come out right. Hope this makes sense.
> 
> I have a lot planned for this fic~ Thank you for reading!
> 
> xx cheers! 
> 
> :)


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